Heartless (11 page)

Dinner that evening was a nightmare.

Leandra dressed in a gown of gold velvet trimmed with Brussels lace at the neckline and the wrists of the long sleeves and an overskirt of matching lace. She wore Mrs. Stark’s gold locket again since she still had nothing of her own in the way of jewelry. Her dark hair was gathered up on the side of her head and cascaded in a riot of curls over her left shoulder.

She felt terrible. Drums hammered in her head, making her tetchy. She wanted nothing more than the departure of her family. Except for Michaella, of course.

The dinner conversation was nonexistent, thank the Lord. Leandra had dinner served in the State dining room for just that reason. There were yards of table between each of the guests.

The duchess invited Martin to join them. Amusement danced through her eyes as looks of horror passed between the dowager and her daughters. How galling they must find it to have to sit down with a servant!

Leandra sighed and wished the duke was there. For some reason, she’d been unable to stop thinking about him. She barely knew him and yet she found herself constantly doing things that she hoped would please him. And praying the things she did that would not please him were never discovered.

The duchess rose to withdraw to the drawing room. Martin stood as she did and she gave him a sympathetic look. She would not ask him to join them. She whispered to Stark to give Martin whatever he wanted to drink. He’d more than earned it.

As soon as the doors of the drawing room closed, the ladies started in on her.

“You are far too lenient with your servants, Merri. Why, I saw a fat housemaid. I do believe she is stealing food,” the dowager informed her haughtily while seating herself regally in a chair by the glowing fire.

“You have not the least knowledge of how to conduct yourself, Merri. You should let me help. Schuster’s home was at sixes and sevens when I arrived and I managed to fix everything,” Lady Schuster told her with a smirk as she went to the piano in the corner and sat down to play.

“You have no sense of fashion, Merri. You should dismiss your abigail and hire one that knows what she is about,” young Lady Harwood complained as she adjusted the skirts of her charming lemon yellow satin evening gown.

These comments were all said at the same time.

Michaella stared at them all as if they were sideshow freaks at Bartholomew Fair. “What are you all talking about? Merri has done a lovely job with her new social status.”

“It’s quite all right, Michaella,” smiled Leandra. “They are only concerned for my well-being.”

She turned her attention back to the other three ladies. “The housemaid you saw is not fat, she is expecting. I conduct myself very well, from all I have heard and observed. And Liza is an excellent abigail.” With that, Leandra sat down on the settee next to Michaella and took up her needlework, ignoring her spiteful female relatives.

Thankfully, everyone was more than willing to avoid any type of socially correct conversation and so avoided any type of talk at all. Lady Schuster played the piano with skill and soon the dowager was dozing in her chair by the fire. Lady Harwood had found a book that seemed to hold her interest and Michaella watched Leandra ply her needle, asking questions once in a while about a certain type of stitch that she herself had had particular trouble over. Considering her own lack of skill in that department, Leandra knew her sister’s questions for the distraction they were, and she loved her all the more for it.

Fifteen minutes later, shouts could be heard coming from the Great Hall. Leandra looked up and the color drained from her face. Such a gamut of emotions swept through her that she didn’t know quite what she felt. Surprise, relief, and unease each took their turn on her mobile features.

Servants could be heard rushing here and there, while commands from the Starks rose above all the furor.

“I told you that you are far too lenient,” said the dowager, thin lips stretched into a smug grin.

But Leandra wasn’t listening. She tossed her sewing aside and flew to the door, flinging it open and darting down the corridor. She didn’t stop until she was in the Great Hall.

The Duke of Derringer stood before the main stairs with his arms crossed over his broad chest, staring in Leandra’s direction. His black eyes were hooded and his expression grim.

“Oh, Hart, you’re home. Thank God!” And Leandra threw herself at him without so much as a by-your-leave.

Quick wits and quicker reflexes served Derringer well. He opened his arms at just the right moment and caught her, his arms enfolding her close to his chest. He stood holding her for a long moment before the impulsiveness of her actions struck him. His eyes widened to their fullest and he grinned. She’d called him Hart.

He stared down into her eyes, dark green and gold, and was suddenly very, very glad he had decided to come home before going after Gabriel. Her mouth opened and he watched her tongue dart out to wet her lips. The sudden desire he felt for her took him completely by surprise.

And so he kissed her. In full view of the servants and her family who had come out to see what all the ruckus was about. He kissed her the way he’d wanted to since that first time at the Maidstone Inn. His tongue swept the inside of her mouth and she moaned deep in her throat. And she kissed him back.

He would have taken her up to his bed right then had not the dowager gasped and said in her strident tones, “Of all the disgraceful behavior! And what, Merri, do you suppose your husband will say if he walks in to see you kissing one of the outdoor help?”

Derringer leaned his head back and smiled at his bride. “So, my Merri, did you miss me?” he asked unnecessarily. He looked down at her with something akin to tenderness, a soft smile on his lips.

Leandra realized suddenly what a spectacle she had made of herself and him. She struggled out of his embrace and stepped back, smoothing her hands over her gown in an attempt to return some order to her appearance. It was then that her stepmother’s words finally sank in and she looked up at her husband.

Then she laughed. Uncontrollably.

8

The duke, in the glory of his tattered and stained tavern attire with his long black hair in windblown disarray, stared at Leandra while she laughed. She laughed so hard that tears sprang to her eyes and ran down her cheeks. One hand covered her mouth in a desperate attempt to stifle her own merriment while the other clutched her middle.

Her laughter rang like music in Derringer’s ears.

Then he noticed the ladies standing a few feet behind his wife and the unnatural silence of his servants. He studied the ladies for a full minute, an unpleasant smile finally settling on his lips.

Leandra stopped laughing, her eyes fixing on the duke in trepidation.

He recognized the older woman with the graying hair. Her son took after her quite a lot. The next oldest lady appeared to be Harwood’s sister. The blond had to be his wife since she resembled the rest not at all. And the young one that so resembled Leandra must be…

“You are Harwood’s clan, are you not?” he asked.

The dowager stiffened. “Who are you, sir, to address us so disrespectfully? I’ll have the duke toss you out on your ear for your impertinence.”

Derringer turned his black eyes on Leandra. “Do you think he will, Merri?”

Leandra shook her head as a hysterical laugh bubbled up and came out her nose in an unladylike snort—which only made her laugh harder.

“How dare you address a duchess so, sir. You are dismissed immediately,” declared the Dowager Lady Harwood roundly. The other ladies just goggled at the way the situation was progressing.

“Aw, Merri, now she’s gone and fired me,” complained Derringer. He was enjoying himself immensely.

“And you, young lady,” said the dowager to Leandra, “ought not encourage him in this behavior. It really does not become you.”

Derringer studied his wife until she blushed most becomingly. “I would have to disagree with you, ma’am. She is enchanting when she laughs.”

The sincerity in his voice took Derringer and Leandra both by surprise. Her giggles ceased as she stared at him and he stared back with an expression of dawning realization on his face. He truly found her enchanting. How was that possible having only spent a handful of hours with her in the weeks since they’d married? She was an irritation, a necessity to secure his money, nothing more.

And yet, he thought about her more often than he cared to. He found her unwillingness to quake in the face of his temper oddly intriguing. It was no reason to think he loved the witch, but it was curious. And that made him want to know her better.

Leandra forced her eyes to turn to her stepmother and said, “I told you upon your arrival this afternoon, Dowager, that you are not to try to dismiss my servants. If you do, you will leave.” She turned glowing eyes up to her husband and winked in the most audacious manner before she took him into her arms and murmured huskily, “And I like this servant too well to see him go.”

“You are a whore, I knew it!” declared the triumphant voice of the young, infinitely stupid Lady Harwood.

Leandra tightened her hold on the duke.

“Let me go, Merri,” he growled.

“No,” she whispered back. “I’ll not let you kill my brother’s wife.”

He gave Leandra a hard glare, one of his worst, but just as he suspected, she didn’t back down. She stared right back, determined to prevent the massacre of her unwelcome family.

“Stark!” he bellowed over his wife’s head. The butler appeared before him with a wooden expression. “Throw them out, now!” he commanded.

The butler bowed.

“You cannot toss us out. You are a servant.” The current earl’s wife was none-too-quick, Derringer noted. “And she is no better than she should be, you know. She used to live under my husband’s roof and she was caught in the footman’s bed.”

Derringer’s sudden stillness gave Leandra a pang of disappointment. He believed the little cat. She had never been discovered in any man’s bed let alone the footman’s. She’d never even been in someone else’s bed. She released him with a sad little sigh and stepped back.

Derringer crossed the hall in a flash. Leandra blinked, unable to believe her eyes. He was right beside her one second and the next he was gone.

He glared down at Harwood’s wife until she shrank away from him in fear. It was all he could do to keep his hands off her. They itched to curl around her slender white throat.

“Aye, you should fear me, my lady. If you say one more thing against Merri, I’ll have you horsewhipped,” he threatened in a tone of voice that made believers of them all.

“You will do no such thing, young man.”

Derringer rolled his eyes and looked at the dowager. “Won’t I?” he asked insolently.

“No, you will not. The duke would not allow his guests to be treated so shabbily.”